Colorado Vacation

When the sightseeing bus climbed the long, steep mile from Black Hawk to Central City in the midst of the Colorado Rockies. I sat up a little straighter and could hardly believe my eyes. Wooden sidewalks! Gingerbread frets under eaves; houses tier on tier and mine dumps, with rusty shaft houses everywhere.

"What you see here," said the man in the next seat to me "is what's left of the old West. You won't see it much longer for it is disappearing fast."

Craning my neck and looking from side to side I watched the old houses slip by together with the gaping mine tunnels, and the monument commemoration the discovery of Colorado's gold on the spot. Still the car climbed toward more mines. Ahead, to the left, was an empty firehouse with its bell, standing beside a gulch down with gray tailings poured, proof that the mines in the distance were working. On the right were streets, one above another built on terraces cut from the hillside and one stood the native stone high school from which. I was told, were graduated the first trained teachers of the state.

Crowning the hill was another school building, this one surmounted with a cross. :"That," said my neighbor, "was St. Aloysius" Academy, and just below it, on Eureka Street, is one of the most famous hostelries in the west- the Teller House. And beyond it is the Opera House, and beyond it Gilping County Courthouse, and farther up the street, the Brewery, and at the top of the hill the cemeteries" My head reeled.

Buildings everywhere, many of them deserted and definitely built many years ago. Few people were in sight when we stopped for soda pop and a quick walk along the main street, and our footsteps echoed aw we climbed the wood wooded steps to the Masonic Lodge, on of the sights of the city. This was Central City, once the biggest place in Jefferson Territory, and in the sixties surpassed even Denver in size. And here I was, fresh from the east and surrounded by a culture, which flowered in the seventies and eighties and slowly faded in the nineties.

We stayed all too short a time in Central City and were hurried on toward Idaho Springs and our objective St. Mary's Glacier, where we would be skiing-a great attraction to easterners on the Fourth of July! We climbed the long, curving hill that led out of Central to Russell Gulch and Idaho Springs, and before we reached the top of the grade I glanced back for a last look at Central City, cupped in a hollow of mountains and emanating such a strong flavor of the past. The rest of the day I do not remember. The skiing and the snowballing are hazy recollections, for my attention was centered on Central City and my mind was made up then and there to know more of it's history and to return to its picturesque streets and sketch its tumbling buildings.

A year passed before I could carry out my decision, a year spent in New York. But now New York had lost its fascination: more and more I longed for the mountains of the West. And I well remember the day that I walked into the president's office at the Art School where I was teaching and tendered my resignation.

: What's this?" said the gentleman, Are you going to be married?" "No," I replied with a wicked gleam in my eye, for I knew how he loved the city, :I'm tired of New York and I want to go west to live. So, a few months later, having sought positions from Montana to Arizona, I was fortunate enough to find an opening in the Art Department at eh University of Colorado and I knew that my Central City dream was beginning to materialize.

During the summer of 1926, while teaching at the University, I asked questions about Colorado's past, it's mining booms and its ghost towns, but my real interest in history when I returned to Central City to start my pictorial record of the place. As soon as school closed at the end of August, ignorant of the last of transpiration in the west to many mountain points at any time, I made preparations to spend the vacation in Central City, forty miles from Boulder, and when I was ready to start, there was no way to go. The sightseeing companies had left until the following season; the daily stage up the canyon went only halfway-and twenty miles is a long hike at seven thousand feet elevation. In desperation I called the local taxi company and presented my problem to them. They seemed a little stunned at the request but did some quick calculating and announced that the trip would cost $15.00. Knowing that the canyon stage to Nederland, twenty miles away, cost considerable less I decided to take it and hunt the rest of my transportation there

Armed with my sketching materials, I set out on Labor Day on what seemed an innocent excursion. I reached Nederland by noon. Surly someone would be willing to drive me to Central City for a modest sum, and I began inquiring at the garages and hotels; but seemingly no one was interested in the trip to Central. Finally one man agreed to drive me over. "And how much will the trip cost?" I asked. "Fifteen dollars" was his prompt answer. At this point the hotel proprietor came to my aid by assuring me by staying the night in his hotel I might be able to get a ride the next day with the Boulder bread man who served the mountain towns once a week and who sometimes took passengers. Such an arrangement seemed worth trying, and much more economical; so I settled down to stay in Nederland, a small mining town, which by the twenties had become a summer resort. All afternoon I tramped the streets, sketching the false-fronted stores, log cabins, and the big tungsten mill on the creek. To the west was the Continental Divide and up the winding road to the south lay Central City, twenty miles away. From time to time during the afternoon great roars and cheers came from the Baseball Park where a game was in progress, and upon inquiry I learned the Nederland team was playing the Black Hawk Club. That was the last straw, for I knew that Black Hawk was one mile from Central City and here in front of me were nine men who in a few hours would be going within one mile of my destination while I sat in Nederland waiting for the bread man. But I was from the east, and one doesn't just offer oneself to a ball team to beg transportation. Yet, the more I mulled it over in my mind the more foolish it seemed to spend the night in Nether land with Central so accessible. I entered a restaurant for an early supper, perhaps because, parked in front of it, was a car with a Black Hawk license! At one table sat a ballplayer with his wife and family, and as I ate I gathered courage. Just as they were leaving I told them my plight and said that since I saw they were from Black Hawk maybe they would know someway that I might get to Central. This thin disguise worked, and while I ran for my suitcase they filled the tank of the touring car with gasoline and in less then five minutes I was on my way to the Teller House.

It was a ride I shall never forget. The road in those days was steeper than the new highway and was not surfaced. The car pulled slowly but steadily up the long grades while the driver told me of seeing some autos, which couldn't make them and had to back up the worst hills. All the while I sat in the back seat between two small boys, with a gaily-flowered coverlet tucked under our chins to shut out the cold wind of a September evening.

I watched the sunset colors fade, as we drove between stands of lodge-pole pines and passed occasional ranch houses. Just before dark we dropped down into Black Hawk with its mills and smelters and its homes perched crazily on the mountainsides. With true western hospitality my "benefactors' drove up to Central and deposited me in front of the Teller House, refusing to take any remuneration for the trip. I thanked them profusely and was confused at my temerity in thumbing a ride that even their names have escaped me, and to this day I regret that I do not know to whom I am indebted for starting me on my ghost town hobby.

Have you ever been to Colorado ? It is a wonderful state with lots of history. Besides the white water rafting and the snowmobiling, the state has lots of interesting stories, ghost tales and history that comes with it. If you haven't heard any of the ghost stories then you are in for a treat.

If you want to go ghost hunting, there are a few places that you can stop along your journey. In Thornton, CO there is a fabulous story about a ghost sighting at Brittany Hill restaurant. The former owner was everything but faithful to his wife and in her desperation she jumped form the tower window and killed herself. Shortly thereafter, the husband took his own life by hanging himself from the tower. He was overtaken with grief and sorrow. The two are said to still be walking the grounds today.

If your travels take you to Boulder, then go to the Howe Mortuary and ask the employees about the things that go on there. Several people have reported strange activities happening. The basement is filled with cold spots and there are people that have been reported being seen in the lobby when no one is there. The security alarm system also goes off periodically and so do the motion sensors.

Colorado Springs has a well known hotel called the Hearthstone Inn. Guests have reported seeing a small girl running through the Inn while others have heard her laughing. Some guests have seen things fly off of bookshelves when no one was around.

Another interesting story comes out of Empire, CO. The Pratt Hotel is said to have a ghost named Millie. She was the daughter of the original hotel owner. She was said to have fallen down the stairs and died. Many guests claim to have seen her lying at the bottom of the stairs or falling down the stairs. These are just a few of the stories that come out of Colorado.